


begin again.

by lushwang (theangryblob)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Body Horror, Death, Gore, Other, minghao gets thrown under the bus p quickly, oh heres a big hint: fuck your church oppa, uhhhhh theres a wee smutty bit but u can like Skim that shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 11:01:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13588692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryblob/pseuds/lushwang
Summary: jihoon dies and makes a deal with the devil.





	begin again.

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first fic in a REALLY long time so im really glad to be writing again. thank u to my lovely maram for beta-reading this for me bcaus oh cow..... theres apparently many ways one can misspell 'jihoon'.
> 
> this is the song the title is taken from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IIPMzeNWAtk . u dont have 2 listen while u read but uh....... there ya go
> 
> note: joshua is using they/them pronouns.

the road seems to stretch for miles, lane markers disappearing under his car; dozens every second, but when he blinks, focuses again, it feels like he hasn’t moved at all. full moon, clear white reflecting off the hood of his car, light refracting off the dirty, broken street lights and hurting his eyes no matter which way he turns his head. the mountains rise on either side of the road, growing like behemoths around the twists and turns. he can barely see the sky above him - they seem to loom above him, like they’re only moments away from swallowing him whole.

he spares a glance to his watch (brand new, a gift from his uncle, a _congratulations_ ).

_11:13pm._

jihoon left his aunt’s house three hours ago. he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. he should be home by now. it’s too late to be driving, but he thought it wouldn’t be long, that the night was clear, that it would just be a smooth drive home.

he starts this week, a job at an investment bank that has everyone he knows fawning over him. it’s but a stepping stone in the grand scheme of things (money, money, _money_ ), but it’s important nonetheless. he has spent years studying, fighting for internships, neglecting his friends and family, and it seems like it’ll all finally be for _something_ . minghao crosses his mind, his smile, his laugh, the look of betrayal on his face when he realized jihoon was the one who’d ruined him. years of friendship, all down the drain, because jihoon _wanted_ something and he wanted it more than he cared about minghao, about his feelings, about his privacy when he leaked the videos of minghao and his boyfriend that jihoon had taken from their phones.

there are some things that he’ll never get back, but it’s worth it, _so_ worth it.

it needs to be.

he’s a selfish person. but jihoon would not be where he is now if he wasn’t.

he blinks, takes in a deep breath, chest rising and falling. the sky seems low, the moon heavier, stars dwindling in the backdrop. his windows are closed but he can hear the wind, whispering behind the glass, soft and inviting, words lost and a hundred feet behind while he strains to hear them. a chill settles over him, a shiver runs up his back so quickly he jerks, leg lifting off the accelerator. he shakes his head - he’s getting sleepy.

when his eyes focus again on the road, there’s a deer standing in the middle of it, headlights glowing in its eyes, it’s body approaching closer and closer, and jihoon panics, swerving.

 _he can’t breathe_.

his head is throbbing, arms struggling against the airbag, pushing against it till it deflates. there’s blood, startling red, flashing behind his eyelids, in front of him, on his hands, on his face, clogging his nostrils, coating his tongue. when he opens his mouth the scream that erupts from it is strangled, like he’s choking against something sinking into his throat. the world is spinning, something whistling (shrieking, high-pitched, _tight_ in his ears), and when he turns his head, the deer is standing by his window, still as stone, eyes glowing white.  

_wake up jihoon._

the moonlight is shining down, filtering through the canopy of the trees, a thousand white diamonds shining over his skin. the light never reaches the ground, but jihoon isn’t looking there. he can’t remember where he is, where he was, just the sound, the taste of his own blood on his tongue, copper like and cloying, the dirt on his skin caked on him like a second skin. his clothes are gone, bones contorted painfully as he pushes himself off the ground, and an inhuman howl erupts from his throat. he stumbles, tips forward, falls. he begins the process again, tears running down his face, cutting through the cover of mud on his skin. he’s not sure how it became like this, how long it’s been, but he knows he must _go_ , that there’s something behind him, that he needs to keep moving. he dare not turn around.

(his blood looks white when it shines, the deep crimson disappearing like a shadow) 

he lifts his head, takes in a shaking breath. 

a hundred feet ahead, a clearing. a perfect ring of tree, a breeze blowing through the grass, light reflecting off the blades into his eyes. in the middle of it all, a building. jihoon blinks, but it feels like he hasn’t even closed his eyes. it’s calling for him.  
not a building. a hut, a shack, wooden boards and broken windows and falling apart. his feet don’t move, but he can feel the grass between his toes, the breeze pressing against his face. the closer he gets, the more impossible it becomes, winds pushing against him till he can barely move, like he’s walking against a tornado, unable to move forwards or backwards, _stuck_.

but he can’t stop here, he needs to keep going. he must go inside.

the air is full of a thousand invisible knives, cutting through his flesh, dragging over it till the blood is pouring down his limbs, his chest, his cheeks. the pain is searing, so sharp and so sudden he nearly falls to his knees. it’s useless trying to cover himself with his arms, but he ducks his head, closes his eyes, and _runs_.

he hasn’t opened his eyes but he can _see_.  

the shack in front of him, his reflection in the broken glass. the shadow behind him, a shadow that’s not his.

jihoon opens the door, falls inward, into the darkness.

 _wake up jihoon_.

when he opens his eyes, he’s hyper aware of the movement, lids sliding open and shut, his lashes lining them, feeling uncharacteristically heavy. the air is so cold it _stings_ , coming into his lungs like the frost is already puncturing his organs. he takes a shaky breath and sits up, body feeling unnaturally light, moving faster than he’d ever known himself to.

it takes a moment to get his bearings, but his heart feels slow, like time itself was moving through water. every movement of his body takes up his entire mind. when he blinks, it’s all that he’s aware of, like the world behind his eyelids has disappeared in that moment, like it had never existed at all.

the domed ceilings are high, wooden columns reaching up the walls and meeting at the center of the dome in a pointed arch, dark wood a stark contrast to the cream colored walls. between each column is a window, twenty feet high and stained, pictures of the sun, god, mary, all shining down on him in a dozen brilliant colors. the sun must be out, because the light streaming in is so bright. it feels cold on his skin, startlingly so, and he turns his head, as if simply not looking erases its presence. he’s sitting atop one of many pews, the same dark wood as the columns. he turns his head again, side to side. there’s no door, but on the other side there’s a grand statue of christ, shining golden, his face contorted in pure agony. where the thorns and nails enter his skin, it looks like the flesh has been truly punctured, pulling in towards the wound. all that’s missing is blood.

below, in front of him, an altar, covered in purple cloth and candles.

in front of that, a man. clad in black, turned away from him. dark hair, tall, stone still. as jihoon focuses on them, they turn their head, looking over their shoulder and meeting his gaze. there’s a pleasant smile on their face, but they look neither happy nor sad, _wooden_ , like a sculpture, so impervious to human emotion. they move only when jihoon speaks, doing something with their hands, something jihoon can’t see.

“what time is it?”

their voice is so light, smooth as honey, so distant jihoon is not sure if he’s heard it at all or imagined it, like it was coming from within his own mind. “i’m not sure. do you have a watch?”  
their head is turned again, but they’re smiling, and jihoon knows they are. he can feel it, knows it so vividly as if it were he himself who was smiling.

he lifts his wrist, staring down at his watch. “eleven thirteen.”

“quite late, isn’t it?” there’s a touch of amusement to their voice, but just as jihoon thinks it so he becomes unsure.

“it is.” he looks up, wonders how he could have confused the moon’s light with the sun’s. of course, it’s night time. how could he have made such a mistake? when he was outside last, it was the middle of the night.

when he was outside last- 

jihoon stands up, light on his feet, and walks towards the center of the church, the carpet so thick it hides the sound of his footsteps entirely. as wide and open as the hall is, he hears nothing, not even his own breath. only his voice, when he speaks. “i want to go home.”

the man (the pastor?) turns around, feet barely moving, as if they were floating on the ground. there is something inexplicably strange about them, something that pushes jihoon away.

he takes a step back.

“are you sure you’re not forgetting something?”

in their hands they hold- _nothing_. jihoon sucks in a breath. they were holding something before, he _knows_ they were, but there’s nothing there now, their hands folded over their stomach, fingers thin, bony, painted red. they smile broader, cheeks rounding with the illusion of mirth. the light, bright as it is, does not reflect off their eyes. two, dark holes on their face, like two versions of the abyss, like if jihoon looked into them for too long, he would find something horrible at the bottom.

their voice is louder now, even if they move their mouth no more than they did before. Like they are speaking right beside his ear. “you left it outside, didn’t you?”

jihoon takes another step back, knees feeling weak. “i’m going to get it.”

he wants to turn around, but he cannot. so he walks backwards, the man’s figure growing smaller and smaller, the church growing larger and larger around them. it seems much bigger now, bigger than he’d thought, and in his mind it appears a thousand more miles of the floor stretches behind him. he walks faster, ankles aching, so quickly he is worried he’ll stumble and stop. but he cannot - he keeps going. and the man’s figure shrinks to a speck, so tiny before the looming figure of christ, head tilted up, blood dripping down his forehead. no matter how far back he goes, no matter how impossibly small the man’s figure becomes, jihoon can still feel their gaze on him, heavy, terrifying, all their impossible inhumane attention focused on tiny, tiny jihoon.

a doorway appears before him, and jihoon realizes belatedly that he has walked through it. he is outside.

the door closes, and he is plunged into darkness.

_wake up jihoon._

when he opens his eyes, he’s hyper aware of the movement, lids sliding open and shut, his lashes lining them, feeling uncharacteristically heavy. the air is warm, sweet, sliding against his skin. he takes a shaky breath and sits up, body feeling unnaturally light, moving faster than he’d ever known himself to. 

“took you long enough.”

he turns his head and finds himself face to face with the man from before, sitting on the bench in front of him, elbows on the back of it and their chin in their hands. their face is so familiar, but before when it had been cold and statue-like, it is warm now, smiling, eyes twinkling with mischief. there is something unexpectedly _feline_ about the man, from the oval shape of their pupils to the tip of their fleshy nose and the kittenish curl of their grin. their hair styled up now, clothes changed to a white button up and slacks, their sleeves rolled up to the elbow. dare he say they look _stylish_ , _handsome_ , even.  

jihoon scowls, standing up and brushing the imaginary dust off his clothes. “i don’t have time for this. you know i’m busy, joshua.”  
it feels like they’ve always known them, that they’ve always been friends, that jihoon has always known their name is joshua. how could he forget? perhaps at the back of their mind a wisp of knowledge lurks, it’s presence reminding him that the person before him is the same from before, the same one that had terrified him. but this knowledge is suddenly meaningless, like his terror exists nowhere, like it had been left behind, like it was no longer his. he cannot imagine that the person before him now is the same from before.

joshua stands too, walking past jihoon towards the center of the church. they’re not as tall as he remembers, slim, moving effortlessly, like silk fluttering in the air. jihoon follows, unable to take his eyes off. he’s not sure what he’s busy with, but it no longer feels important.

“i _know_ ,” joshua starts, voice already turning to a whine, “but can’t you stay with me a little bit longer?”

jihoon steps forward, wrapping his arms around joshua’s waist and pulling them towards him. they’re unexpectedly warm, the heat comforting, and jihoon doesn’t want to let go. joshua brings their arms up, letting them hang loose over jihoon’s shoulder, indulging him and pressing closer. the church seems so small now, like there’s barely any room for anything but them, standing close together in the center. even the statue has disappeared from jihoon’s periphery, and soon he loses focus on everything else, eyes drawn only to joshua.

“but I have to go.” he speaks so softly, whispering it, like his words are only for them. he does not sound like he’s in a hurry, like he wants to go at all. he does not. “i have to go home.”   
joshua’s thumb drags over jihoon’s jaw, their touch _hot_ , causing his breath to quicken. “just stay. stay with me.”

jihoon says nothing, but when joshua lowers their head, leans in, he says nothing. it is as if his voice has disappeared from him too. 

when joshua’s lips touch his, he does not get to feel it before the world blinks out. darkness.

 _wake up jihoon_.  

when he opens his eyes, he’s hyper aware of the movement, lids sliding open and shut, his lashes lining them, feeling uncharacteristically heavy. the air is heavy with dust, old, stale, like he’s entered a place no human has been for a thousand years. he takes a shaky breath and sits up, body feeling unnaturally light, moving faster than he’d ever known himself to.

there is no light shining through the windows, as if there were a wall behind them, blocking everything from coming in. a number of candles hang from the ceiling in chandeliers, so high that jihoon has to wonder who went up and lit them.

he turns his head.

the statue, once golden and bright, now lies under a thin layer of dust, its shine dulled considerably. in many places the gold is flaking off, revealing cracked stone underneath. joshua stands before it, on the other side of the altar, so jihoon can see what they’re doing clearly.

they’re nude, a fact that seems neither new nor interesting. it simply is. jihoon stands up, walking through the pews and towards them. where there had been a carpet once there was only the hard floor, a thick layer of dust sticking to the bottom of his feet with every step.

the closer he gets the more _confusing_ joshua’s actions become.

the purple cloth that had once been on the altar was removed, revealing the stone surface underneath. at the corner of it stands a wooden bowl, full of a dark, viscous liquid, and when joshua dips their fingers into it, jihoon realizes it’s blood. they drag it over the stone, forming the shape of a circle, a star inside of it, multiple symbols in the space between. none of it makes sense to jihoon, and so he keeps his hands to himself, looking between joshua and the formation on the altar. candles appear at the corners of it where there had not been before, wax dried and hard on the table like they had been there all along. the bowl has disappeared entirely. 

when they speak, jihoon knows their voice, knows it comes from their own throat, disturbingly human, somber, low, words chosen carefully like they only have so many and jihoon is worth none of them.

“you should not be here.”

jihoon takes in a deep breath. their heart beats steady in their chest, lungs rising and falling as if he were asleep. he speaks slowly, surely, firmly.

“i want to go home.”

joshua looks up at him finally, their eyes dark, too focused. jihoon feels uncomfortable suddenly, too warm, sweating already pooling at the small of their back. it feels like a sauna, like the heat is pressing in on him from all sides, joshua’s gaze pinning them down in their place.

“nobody cares what you want.” their voice is barely above a murmur, but it carries all the weight of damnation.

but jihoon is not used to a ‘no’, too used to demanding what he wants, too used to getting it, too used to _taking_ it when it is refused to him. he had never settled for the in-between, for anything _less_ than the best. what usually rises up in him as anger takes the form of determination. he breathes easier, stands a little taller.

“i care.”

joshua looks at jihoon curiously, eyes unblinking, the candlelight causing them to shine in burning reds and oranges. he looks more human than he ever has, and even this becomes an ominous mimicry.

they pull away from the alter, walking around it till they stand in front of jihoon, reaching forward to cup his face between their bloody hands.

something in their voice is soft, betrays an unspeakable _pity_ , empathy, like he knew jihoon better than he knew himself.

“and do you think that matters? do you think you get to decide what happens to you?” 

their fingers smooth over jihoon’s cheeks, warm blood dribbling down to his chin. this close all he can focus on are joshua’s eyes, the fire billowing behind them casting the world a roaring red, their skin painted gold. even like this, so close to hell, joshua is unearthly, beautiful.

“yes.”

joshua says nothing, eyes betraying no change in their emotion. their fingers travel upwards, hovering over his face, before they stab their fingers into jihoon’s skull, gouging out his eyes. darkness.

 _wake up jihoon_. 

when he opens his eyes, he’s hyper aware of the movement, lids sliding open and shut, his lashes lining them, feeling uncharacteristically heavy. the air is _hot_ , heady, dizzying, like a rush of blood to the head. he takes a shaky breath and sits up, body feeling unnaturally light, moving faster than he’d ever known himself to.

joshua sits up beside him, pressing a hand against his bare chest to gently push him back down. “hey, hey, relax. It’s okay.”

jihoon looks at them, their messy hair, the way they curl against him, arm looped over his torso to keep him close. they’re on the floor, backs leaning on the altar, in a mess of blankets and pillows, the hall dark save for the ring of candles around them. rose petals are scattered atop them, crushed and fragrant, and jihoon remembers how they’d come to be that way: joshua beneath them, writhing, eyes screwed shut, legs tight around his waist, one hand clutching the blankets, the other leaving welts on jihoon’s back, how sweetly they’d called his name, voice breathless, high, intoxicating.

jihoon sighs, lying down besides them, murmuring an apology against their neck. joshua just hums, shifting closer still, running their fingers through jihoon’s hair. they take a deep breath, chest rising, and as they exhale they almost _melt_ against him, going soft in his arms, making a small noise of content at the back of their throat as they nuzzle their cheek against jihoon’s temple.

his heart feels so full, like it could burst any second.

when they speak, their voice is dreamy, romantic, coming to him through a fog, like it’s the only thing in the world that could ever sound so clear. “you’ll stay with me, won’t you?”

jihoon nods, presses a chaste kiss to the underside of their jaw. “of course,” he says, lips brushing against their skin. “i’ll stay with you. i’ll do anything for you.”

joshua smiles, laughing a little. “anything?”

“anything.”

they take jihoon’s jaw in their hand, tilting it so that they can lean down and kiss him. darkness.

 _wake up jihoon_.

when he opens his eyes, he’s hyper aware of the movement, lids sliding open and shut, his lashes lining them, feeling uncharacteristically heavy. the air is sharp, electric, ripe with the stench of blood. he takes a shaky breath and sits up, body feeling unnaturally light, moving faster than he’d ever known himself to.

his feet hit the ground, blood seeping between his toes. there’s so much of it, flooding the floor, splattered against the windows, melting the great statue like acid on skin.

a whistle echoes throughout the hall, calling for his attention. it hangs over the pews like a siren, like the final horn and it is jihoon’s last day.

he turns his head, and there stands joshua, like he’d first seen them: stone still, devoid of emotion, dressed the pastor, their body so covered in blood it seems as if their very skin were crimson, hideous, like all the flesh had been pulled away to reveal the bloody pulp underneath. a dagger sits in their hand, shining even when there is no light.

jihoon stands up, shaking as his back hits the bench, and he stumbles, forces his way to the center. there is no door - he knows this without looking into the darkness behind joshua. there is only the altar, the candles at each of it’s corners, christ’s face looking down on him, twisted in eternal agony.

jihoon doesn’t look back - there is no time. he’s running out of time.

he climbs atop the altar, holding his hands in front of him, as if it could stop joshua from coming towards him, sinewy muscles moving like a beast’s. where his face remains wooden, void of emotion, their body betrays an _eagerness_ , a quickening in their step, the way they are almost _prowling_ , taking their time before the pounce.

“stop! stop it, stop, don’t, _please_.” jihoon begs, even as their knees collapse, as joshua steps closer and closer.

“don’t kill me, _don’t_ , i don’t deserve to die.” his voice grows quieter, weaker, like the very life was being sucked out of him. he’s running out of time but he’s not sure _how_ , like joshua’s rage will not be the first to get him, like something else is looming on the horizon, like he’s wasting time _here_. he needs to go, he needs to go _now_.

“please.”

he begs, even as joshua’s hand circles his throat, knife raised high, ready to be brought down between their eyes.

“i want to live,” he whispers, tears running down his cheeks. he closes his eyes, taking in a shuddering breath.

joshua stills. “say it again.”

jihoon doesn’t hesitate, the energy returning to him, his hands raised to take hold of joshua’s wrist. “i want to live,” he says, louder than before, “i want to _live_ , let me live, please, i’ll do anything for you, please just let me live, let me live, let me _live!_ ”

the knife falls to the floor with a clatter, the sound echoing throughout the hall.

“and so you shall.”

their hand plunges into jihoon’s chest, pulling the heart right out of his ribs. he hears the bones cracking, feels the shards puncturing his lungs, his blood joining the mass on the floor. and he watches, eyes unblinking as the life drains out of him, watches joshua swallow his heart whole. darkness. 

_wake up jihoon._

there’s a fluorescent light directly above his eyes, and jihoon winces, turning his head away. it shines through his eyelids, turning them a bright orange, and he lets out a noise of discontent. he’s not ready to wake up, his limbs feeling like lead, he like he couldn’t, didn’t want to move. the air-conditioning is awfully loud, and the air is sterile, cold, _sharp._

he feels like he’s lived the same day a thousand years, rising and falling and sinking into darkness, sitting up in the church pews and waiting to see what he’d be subject to, over and over again.   
this is not something he can forget so easily. it feels like he’s aged a millennia, stuck in a place no human had any right to be.

“jihoon?”

a hand grabs his, a sob in the voice. “oh _god_ , i thought you were dead, they said you were gone-”

he opens his eyes, squinting at the figure standing by the edge of his bed. it takes him a moment to realize it’s minghao. he doesn’t mean to ask what he does, or to say it so harshly, but he is even less in the mood to mince his words as he should. “what are you doing here?”

the relief on minghao’s face falters, something cold returning to his eyes, and they pull their hand away, bringing it up to wipe the tear that was forming. was he remembering something jihoon could not?

“i’m still your emergency contact.”

“...what?”

he doesn’t understand - what use is that information to him? where was he? why would it warrant minghao’s presence?

“there was a car accident, jihoon. don’t you remember?”

jihoon looks away, closing his eyes. he does remember, quite vividly, but he’s too tired, he doesn’t want to. he’s not sure of the look on minghao’s face, but his sigh sounds like disappointment. when he speaks, jihoon can only offer him half his attention (while the other tries to fall back asleep). “look, i told your uncle i’d call the moment you wake up. they’re coming over to see you.”

he must look dismissive, something that strikes him as increasingly awful the more he remembers. but he can’t bring himself to care.

he opens his eyes, watches minghao fumble with their phone, before stepping outside the room, mumbling that he’d be right back. jihoon’s eyes follow his figure out, blinking slowly as he takes in a deep breath. when he turns his head to the chair minghao had been occupying, he finds it’s not empty like he’d thought.

in it sits joshua, white shirt crisp and ironed, sleeves rolled up, one leg crosses over the other, sitting prim and dainty and smiling at him, kittenish mouth curling into a feral grin. 

when they speak, the voice comes from within his own mind: inescapable.

_“hello jihoon.”_

**Author's Note:**

> thank u 4 making it this far. sorry for cutting out the part they fuck on the altar and josh stabs jihoon but it didnt fit the narrative however im sure u can take a look at all three (3) smutt 2ji fics in the tag and have a lovely day


End file.
